


to breathe again

by sugaquills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confused Jack Kline, Dead Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs Help, Established Jack Kline/Clark Barker, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 13 Speculation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dean isnt coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugaquills/pseuds/sugaquills
Summary: The bed dips."Can you tell me about my father?" The nephilim asks.Dean snarls and yells for it to leave him alone.





	to breathe again

The bed dips. Dean does not look up from his hands, his eyes taking in the little tremors that leave them shaking.

“Can you tell me about my father?” The nephilim asks, and Dean doesn’t say anything. He lets his hand curl into an angry, angry fist.

“Please?” It asks again, and it takes everything Dean has not to yell at it, to tell it that _Castiel was not your father. Lucifer was, and he was - is - the most vile being in the world._

Instead, he snarls at the nephilim to leave him alone. His heart aches and throbs. He feels empty and hollow and he wants to curse Cas out, call him a selfish bastard for leaving, because this is permanent, now, and Cas won’t be coming back.

It flees from his room, hurt, and Dean is uncaring of the sadness on the nephilim’s face as he tips back a bottle of whiskey and drains the thing, slamming it down on the desk with a resounding ‘thud’.

Sam gently rests his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

“I… don’t understand,” Jack whispers. “What did I do to hurt him?”

He pulls the boy into a soft hug, because he’s young, still, young and innocent, and deserves to be cherished.

“You did nothing wrong, Jack,” Sam says, keeping his voice even and honest. “He’s just grieving. Leave Dean alone for a bit; he’s… not doing so good, maybe if you leave him alone for a bit he’ll be better then.”

“He’s hurting.” Jack says quietly. “I can feel it, in here-” he taps his chest twice, right by his heart, a soft gesture that has Sam sobbing internally, crying for the childhood that Jack should have had but did not and cannot get. “It’s so strong. It’s like he’s being crushed by the weight of the world… it hurts so much. Why is he hurting like that?”  
  
“It’s called grief,” Sam says. He can see Jack’s slightly confused look, and the sheer pain in his eyes as he thinks on the pain that Dean is obviously feeling. “It’s... you feel it when someone you know and love dies.”  
  
“What does it feel like?” Jack asks.

Sam leads him to a seat. “Okay. So. You know the place where your Grace is, right? You can feel your Grace in you, right?”

He nods, “yes,” and his eyes are oddly serious as he looks Sam in the eye.

“Well, imagine that it’s just gone one day. There’s an empty hole there. Your Grace is gone and there is no way for you to get it back. What would you do? How would you feel?”

“I don’t know,” Jack frowns. “I’d be scared, I guess. I don’t know how I’d feel. I’d probably feel very empty.”

Sam sighs and rubs his eyes. In that moment, he looks tired, oh, so tired, and Jack’s frown deepens as he catches his hand.

“I don’t think I want to be like Lucifer,” he says. “He doesn’t sound very nice.”

The younger Winchester raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“No,” Jack says, oddly decisive, for such a young man. “I think I’d much rather be like Castiel. He was much nicer than Lucifer was.”

Sam smiles.

“How do you help someone who’s grieving?” Jack asks Clark as they sit on the bridge, feet dangling over the water.

Clark hums and twines their fingers together, a small action that leaves him smiling and happy. “You’ve just got to talk to them.” He says. “Let them establish a sense of normalcy. If, um, if they’re not coping with something, then it’s best to get them to talk about it.”

Jack smiles and inches closer to his friend. “Thanks, Clark,” he says, and Clark smiles and kisses him.

He closes his eyes and smiles, basking in the gentle warmths that Clark exudes.

When he gets home, he smiles and hugs Sam, who has become his closest friend other than Clark (but Clark’s something special, someone special, who is so much more than just a friend, but something more than that).

“What is it called when you like someone as more than a friend?” He asks Sam.

Sam smiles, something in his eyes softened by the question. “It’s called love, Jack,” he says, “and there’s two different kinds of it. There’s familial love, the platonic kind, and romantic love, where you love someone as so much more than a friend.”

“I think I love someone,” Jack says, brows furrowed.

Sam lets out a _hmm_ sound, quiet and curious. “Who is it?”

“Clark,” Jack adds, because of course it is.

“Okay.” Sam says, and he pulls the boy into a hug.

The bed dips. Dean’s hands are shaking as before, tremors making him slightly jumpy. The tape is in his hands, still. His eyes are dark with a lack of sleep.

“I brought you alcohol,” Jack says, setting a bottle of vodka on the table.

Dean looks up, a half-smile forced on his face, but it becomes more real when he sees the honesty in Jack’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Dean says gruffly, and he takes a swig of the vodka and offers it to Jack afterwards.

It may not seem like much, but the action sends warmth through him. Jack smiles.

“Can you tell me about my father?” He asks again.

This time, Dean tells him.

“Cas was… he was _amazing_ ,” Dean breathes out, voice hitching in his throat. “First time we met, he dragged my sorry ass outta Hell and I still haven’t stopped owing him for it.”  
  
He sounds bitter, but Jack can feel the sadness hidden beneath it. He _misses_ Cas, misses him so much it makes his heart hurt and his mind feel like he is going to burn.

“He did so much for us,” Dean whispers, and Jack can see tears in his eyes. “He did so much for us and we never paid him back.”

He lets his hand rest on Dean’s shoulder, over the handprint on it, over the imprint of his father’s Grace left on Dean’s skin.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Jack asks. He’s been asking a lot of questions lately, he realises. “Loved him as more than a friend. Loved him like I do Clark.” The admission is refreshing.

Dean smiles bitterly. “I guess I did, Jackie boy, I guess I did.” Then he blinks, turns to face the boy, and his face is confused. “You got yourself a guy already?”  
  
“I think so,” Jack admits.

“Gonna have to get some tips off you then, kid,” He laughs, and the sound makes him smile freely. “I can barely find anyone these days.”


End file.
